


No Rest for the Weary

by ErysRose



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Bucky Barnes Feels, Feels, Gen, Nightmares, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErysRose/pseuds/ErysRose
Summary: Steve needs his rest. Unfortunately, his dreams won't let him sleep. Not for long, anyway.





	No Rest for the Weary

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the long year between the release of Avengers: Infinity War and the release of Avengers: Endgame. Consider it taking place whenever your imagination likes best.

He's dreaming.  
  
He's small. He can't breathe quite right, even standing still. He's wearing too-big army fatigues and a helmet that doesn't sit straight. The strap, pulled as snug as it can be, still gaps beneath his chin. The sun hurts his eyes and he raises a hand to shield them from the light.   
  
He's on the train, speeding through the snow and the hand he lifted is now reaching out. Bucky. Bucky is going to fall. Reach, Steve, reach. He's still small, still stuffing the inside of his shoes with newspapers. He can't hold on and get to Bucky at the same time. So Bucky falls. Then Steve falls.  
  
He's dreaming.   
  
He's small, on the train, reaching for Bucky, and he grabs his hand, and he starts to pull. Bucky's left arm comes away as he falls, and Steve is left holding a shiny hunk of metal with a red star on what should be the shoulder. It's too heavy, but he can't let go. He falls.  
  
He's dreaming.   
  
He's hearty and hale and big and strong and surrounded by his friends who are all lying on gurneys. They are withered and old and dying. Bucky is there, in a wheelchair. He's young as ever, missing an arm, his eyes vacant, his soul empty. He looks at Steve but sees right through him. Steve cracks his knees on the floor as he falls.  
  
He's awake.  
  
He can't breathe. It's like the old days of asthma attacks and chronic illnesses. He gets up, gets water, splashes his face, looks in the mirror. He goes back to bed.  
  
He's awake.   
  
It's dark and he doesn't know if that's because it's night or because he's dead. He doesn't move. He listens. He waits. He sighs. He's alive. He knows because his soul aches like his heart used to.  
  
He's awake.  
  
He looks at the clock, grabs his phone, calls someone. He's sorry for the late hour--early hour--but it can't wait. He needs a voice that's not in his head, that's not an echoing yell from yesteryear.

He needs a friend.


End file.
